


Song of Songs

by Todesengel



Series: Arc o' Whore!Keith [4]
Category: Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-12
Updated: 2005-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Todesengel/pseuds/Todesengel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything he touches ends up broken</p>
            </blockquote>





	Song of Songs

**Author's Note:**

> Set right before Amazing Grace. Set here because you should really read that fic first.

The nights were always cold, but that was mostly because Keith hadn't figured out how to turn down the AC. The nights were cold and his bed was large and Keith found that he really did miss having Sven right across the room. He thought he'd be happy to be alone, to not have to worry about Sven finding out what, exactly, those 'extra training' sessions really were. But here, on Arus, far away from the Brass that had taught him what it took to get ahead, he found that he was lonely. He'd never been alone before, never had to hear his own heart beat pounding out the universal meter all by itself. He didn't like it, didn't think he'd ever get used to it.

Keith got out of bed and flicked on all the lights, paced from one end of his room to the other. It took eight strides to go from his door to his bathroom, six and a half from the wall to the window. Generous by any standards, but luxurious after so many years in the GG dorms, where he could stand in the middle of the room and touch both beds by just stretching his arms.

 _This is just pathetic. I can't sleep because the room is too big?_ Keith snorted with disgust and sat back down on the bed. He crossed his legs and rested the weight of his body on his palms. He wanted a cigarette, but held off. He didn't want to shower again. A strand of hair fell into his eyes and he blew it away with some irritation. _I'll ask the Doc for some sleeping pills tomorrow._

Keith got up again and turned off the lights. He lay back down and tried to think of all the ways to fall asleep. He knew from experience that sheep were just a waste of time and hot drinks just left a bad taste in his mouth. So all that was left was the tried and true jerk off. He left his eyes open as he put one hand down his boxers and used the other to rub an already erect nipple. The darkness of the room wasn't absolute, but it was dark enough for the fantasy to play out before his eyes. Not that he really needed the stimulation -- his body was sensitive enough that he was erect within seconds of his decision. But it was better this way. It was better to coat the act in sugar and gloss than remember why it was so easy for him to become aroused.

He was almost there when somebody knocked on his door, and he was tempted to pretend he was asleep, because he needed release. But it might be Coran with news about the keys, or one of his team members. Still, it took another knocking -- slightly louder and more insistent this time -- before he got out of bed with a curse and pulled on the bathrobe he'd discarded earlier. He was still hard and the wet spot on his pants that was slowly growing rubbed uncomfortably against the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh.

More knocking, and Keith still wasn't used to the room, so he'd bruised his shin a few times before he managed to get to the door. He keyed it open, momentarily regretting the fact that the automatic doors couldn't slam, and blinked, owlishly, in the suddenly bright light of the corridor, at Sven.

The first thing Keith thought of was danger. It wasn't like Sven to be wandering about in the middle of the night, to come knocking on his door. He was already turning away, trying to remember where he'd discarded his clothes, as he asked, in calm urgency, "What is it? What's wrong? Was there an attack?"

"No! No." The strangely submissive undertones made Keith stop, turn back, stare hard at Sven as if he were trying to tell if this was real or some strange dream. Sven looked away, as if embarrassed, and Keith noticed for the first time that Sven was still in his PJs. "Look. I know you're going to think I'm weird and all, but. Can I sleep here tonight?" He brought his gaze up and stared challengingly into Keith's eyes. "I've gotten so used to your damn snoring that I can't fall asleep without it."

Keith took a step back and a deep breath. He almost smiled, but kept it in check; almost let relief at the thought of not having to be alone tonight wash over him, but kept that in check too. "Sure. I guess it's all right for tonight." He stepped back further, and Sven brushed by him, bringing with him an indefinable sense of comfort and the sharp bite of memories that he thought he'd buried.

He froze, hand still on the keypad, and forced himself to separate the now from the then. It was just Sven, here. Just Sven and he wasn't going to ask anything of him. Sven didn't believe in asking.

Then again, neither had the Brass. That had always been the problem.

"Keith?" Sven's voice and the dull whine of the door trying to close cut through Keith's unwanted reverie.

"Ah. Sorry. I'm just a little sleepy." Keith smiled, though nobody could see it, and took his hand off the keypad. The door closed and in the ambient light he led the way back to his bed. "Um. You don't mind if we share, right?"

"As long as you don't." In the darkness, Keith could hear Sven pulling back the sheets, the rustle of cloth against cloth. "Keith? Aren't you going to sleep too?"

"Yeah." Keith dropped his robe and got on the bed that was suddenly too small. There were too many arms, too many elbows and it took a few painful moments before they sorted themselves out. But, at last, they managed to achieve an equilibrium that, if it was not entirely comfortable was at least not so unpleasant that they couldn't sleep. Keith expected Sven to be stiff, to slowly relax into sleep. This _was_ Sven, after all, the man who was infamous over what he did to those who invaded his personal space.

But Sven just sighed and draped his arm across Keith's waist and breathed slow and even. He was out in seconds and, not for the first time, Keith envied Sven's ability to drop so easily into oblivion. Sven had always managed to fall sleep under any circumstances, including capture and imprisonment, and Keith smiled to himself, a bit ruefully. He should have known that something as non-threatening as sharing a bed wouldn't keep Sven awake.

Keith, however, did not share Sven's ability and he lay staring at the darkness for a long time. Comfort and strange anxiety made his breath hitch in strange ways. He wasn't used to sharing a bed and not having sex, wasn't used to the possessive arm that came without the act of taking, the act of possessing. The men, the women, that he'd used to get here had always claimed him first, taken what they wanted of his body, before they wrapped themselves around him in a sick parody of care and comfort.

Behind him, Sven made a small noise and pulled him closer. Keith held his breath as the familiar comfort of Sven -- of his heartbeat, of the smell of the oil he used to clean his gear, of the sharp tang of the mints he chewed -- washed over him. The erection that had died in the long, uncomfortable moments, returned with a vengeance and Keith felt shame over his easy sexuality for the first time.

 _Idiot. Sven doesn't want-- He's just here because he's a creature of habit. Like you._ He sighed and closed his eyes. "C'mon Orpheus. Take me, all ready," he muttered. "I'm lubed and waiting."

Sven was warm, a fact that surprised Keith, since he'd always assumed that Sven was as cold as his demeanor. It was almost a shame that such delightful heat was trapped in such a frigid personality. In the winters of his youth, Keith would have killed for a companion as warm as Sven, as comforting as Sven.

He wondered, idly, if his life would have taken a different turn if he'd had such a companion back then.

Keith turned, carefully, until he faced Sven, and the minty heat of Sven's breath stroked his cheeks. He breathed, deep and slow, and tried to push away the dreams and memories that made him bite his tongue for fear of crying. This was now, that was then, and all they were doing was establishing a bit of the familiar in this unfamiliar world...even if that familiarity was irrevocably twined with what Keith was trying to forget.

 _It's for Sven._

Keith huddled closer to the warmth, hoping that Sven was so deeply asleep that he wouldn't notice his erection pressed between them. He rocked his hips, just a little, and his breath hitched as he let the reality of what he was doing -- of who he was doing this _with_ \-- sink in. He rocked his hips again and gasped once more, this time in surprise as he realized that it wasn't just his cock pressing into his belly.

 _Oh God._

Keith bit his lip and cracked one eye open to look at Sven's calm, sleeping face. He held his breath for the span of five heartbeats, watching Sven. When Sven showed no sign of stirring, Keith slid his hand down between their bodies, touched Sven's cock tentatively. It was hot, too, burning with Sven's incongruous warmth, the tip already slick. Keith barely breathed as he ran his hand down Sven's unfamiliar length, kept his eyes glued to Sven's face. His own cock throbbed painfully as he watched as Sven's brow furrow, slightly, as his mouth fell open, as a blush bloomed across his cheeks like the first rays of dawn playing on the underside of a cloudbank. Sven made tiny, lewd noises as he came, and the splash of come on his hand triggered Keith's own release and he clenched his teeth tightly against the gasping, yearning noises he wanted to make. He brought his hand out from between their bodies and licked the come away, reached blindly behind him and grabbed the tissues he always kept beside his bed -- for 'post-nasal drip' is what he told everyone, with a straight face. He wiped ineffectively at the mess he'd made and found that he was blushing.

 _You sick, sick fuck. He's sleeping and--_ Keith felt his throat go tight at his shame, at his guilt, at his desire to taste Sven again, to find out if the mints Sven chewed gave his mouth a shocking coldness. _Shit. You're damn lucky that he's a deep sleeper._

Keith closed his eyes.

His body slept.

*

Sven kept coming to his room. Every night, he'd show up, a challenge in his eyes to hide his embarrassment at needing this. Every night he'd hold Keith close, and some nights Keith managed to keep his hands to himself. But most nights, he'd turn, feel Sven's hardness, bring them both off in silent shame. He became quite good at shielding Sven from the mess they made, letting their combined fluids splatter his clothes only.

He was horrified to find that it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to abuse Sven in his sleep, it wasn't enough to steal this forbidden thing. He wanted to do it while Sven was awake, wanted to watch Sven's eyes glaze with lust, wanted to taste all of Sven. He wanted it, and the wanting killed him.

 _It's Sven._ Keith told himself. _It's Sven._

But that argument only made him want it more.

He couldn't keep doing this anymore. He had to stop winding sex and Sven and comfort into a sick, painful ball of barbed wire. He had to stop before the three were irrevocably woven together and the one uncorrupted thing in his life became tarnished like everything else.

"I can't. I can't." Keith rubbed at his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I can't."

The sound of the door sliding open made him look up, suddenly afraid that he'd been caught feeling sorry for himself. He forced the fake smile onto his face and ran through a thousand excuses for the redness of his eyes. _It's too bad I don't have a cigarette._

"Keith? Is everything all right?" Sven was a dark shadow in the doorway, and Keith was struck, suddenly, by an errant memory of Sven as he'd been back when they'd first met. He'd been a dark shadow then, too, but he was far more terrifying now. He stepped out of the doorway and Keith forced himself to stay still, to not shrink away as the irrational fear pricked his heart. "I was knocking."

"Sorry. I didn't hear you." He chewed on the tip of his tongue, trying to use the pain to push back the fear and gather up his courage. He was proud that he didn't flinch when Sven sat down on the bed next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Sven I--"

"Keith."

Just his name, but it sounded so different with Sven this close. Or perhaps there was an invitation in his inflection, an invitation in the gentle touch of Sven's hand on his shoulder. He moved in, out of instinct, out of habit, and Sven moved in too.

The kiss was awkward, their noses bumping, their teeth clicking, but Sven's blush was beautiful.

"Ahh," Sven said. He made as if he was going to stand up, but remained seated. He wouldn't look at Keith and his blush intensified. "Ahh. Keith."

"Hey Sven," Keith said, giving in to his shameful want. It was too late to stop this, anyway. He could see the sickly shine of his filth spread over Sven. "Want to fuck?"

For a long moment Sven didn't move and Keith felt a flutter of bizarre hope. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it wasn't his filth that stained Sven. Maybe he was just seeing Sven clearly for once, seeing the darkness that Sven carried, that Sven had accumulated all on his own. Maybe Sven would hit him and leave and they'd both be safe.

"Yes," Sven whispered, and he still kept his eyes downcast. "Please."

"Okay," Keith said. He kissed Sven again and wondered if Sven could hear him shattering.

*

Sven watched Keith sleep, just like he'd watched Keith sleep every night, from their first to this latest. His face was relaxed, and, like always, Sven almost reached out to stroke his cheek. He kept his hands to himself, though.

 _This has to work. This has to help him._ He took a long, centering breath and tried to find a more comfortable position. He could smell the blood on his body, a copper tang that aroused him in ways that it shouldn't. He hurt.

Keith had been rougher than he'd expected. Rougher and maybe it was his fault for playing the role that Keith had always been forced into. Maybe he should have said 'stop' or 'no' or 'it hurts'. But he doubted Keith had ever had the luxury to say those things, so he'd kept his mouth shut and let himself be used.

He looked at Keith's face again, and he tried to convince himself that Keith looked younger tonight, that the strain that Keith never quite managed to hide was gone. But Sven couldn't really claim that any part of Keith's face could be adequately called peaceful. His brow still furrowed, slightly, creating tiny wrinkles at the top of his nose. His mouth still turned down in a slight frown. His eyes were still closed tight enough to create wrinkles in their corners.

He just looked different tonight, and Sven wondered if this was Keith's normal post-sex face.

Still, even if there was no peace in Keith's face, Sven preferred this expression to the others he'd seen lately. He preferred it to the pain Keith showed those nights he'd kept his hands to himself; preferred it to the shame and guilt and pleasure mixed together in an unappetizing stew on those nights that Keith reached down between their bodies and used his hands to memorize the topology of his cock.

His hand reached out and brushed away the wrinkles on Keith's face. Keith stirred and turned, and Sven went still. Keith sighed and the wrinkles came back.

Sven closed his eyes and let his head rest gently on Keith's shoulder. He hurt, but he wasn't sure if it was his pain or the small hurt of Keith's that he'd managed to take on. He didn't mind either way. If he could, he would willingly take on all of Keith's pain, give up all of his pleasure.

It probably wouldn't be enough.

*

For seven days -- seven days of pain, seven days of discomfort, seven days of trying not to limp, of trying not to bleed, seven days of cautious joy and a weak, thready hope that maybe, _maybe_ Keith wasn't as broken as he thought -- Sven let Keith use him. He lay back and he begged and there was no pretense to his enjoyment. He let himself be fooled into thinking that when Keith smiled it was a real smile, that this was what Keith needed, what Keith _wanted_.

He began to relax. He even slept, a deep, relaxing sleep; a sleep that felt like safety, like home; a kind of sleep that he'd never felt before.

It was absence that woke him, absence and cold. He didn't open his eyes, or start, or do any of the innumerable things that marked the shift from one state of consciousness to another. Relaxed though he might be, Sven was still a creature of habit, a feral creature of instinct. And right now his instincts were screaming that something was wrong. It wasn't quite danger, but it had the same metallic twang, that same bite of copper as blood.

Sven sighed and turned, pretending that he was just restless. The mattress next to him was cold, and for a moment his heart hurt so much that he couldn't see. How long had he lain here without Keith, trapped in useless oblivion? How long had Keith been gone? Was it fear that he felt?

He forced himself to be calm, to lie still, to assess the situation like he'd been taught. He held his breath, and in the silence between the beating of his heart he heard the slow, hitching breaths -- not quite sobs, since Keith didn't cry, even when he thought he was alone, but so close as to make no real difference -- so familiar in their pain; too familiar, really, for Sven's comfort. He'd thought that he'd heard the last of those hitching breaths when they left the Academy and the Brass who'd taken Keith and used him and threw him away when he broke.

That Keith was making those noises here, now...

Sven turned more, opened his eyes just a little, dreading what he would see. Keith was easy to spot, the moonlight bathing him in an indifferent spotlight. He sat with his back against the wall, knees pressed tightly to his chest, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. For a moment Sven felt a strange sensation of double vision, mixing the image of this Keith with the Keith of his memory, who'd sat just so and breathed just so every time he came back from an 'extra training' session.

But this time, it was Sven's fault that Keith needed to make his not-quite-crying sounds and curl his body in feeble, futile, protection

Something small and golden and wonderful shattered deep inside of Sven and he turned away from the sight. He felt the tears that should have accompanied Keith's breaths gather on his lashes and he tried to push them away, but they clung tenaciously and fell silently.

 _What have I done?_

Sven began to organize the conference the next day.


End file.
